


but for this saving grace, indifference

by deepandlovelydark



Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
Genre: Gun Kink, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slash, Slice of Life, Vignette, after a fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark
Summary: So what does Blondie think, about the way Tuco carries his gun?





	but for this saving grace, indifference

Blondie’s never asked him why, even after the first time they slept together. Two men, one mattress, of such ridiculous proportions that their slow, thoughtless clutch, hands upon flanks and ribs and buttocks, had been mutual self-defense as much as anything. A lust more agreeable than shame, and therefore half-pretense- so no truths that night. 

The second time was pure impulse, animalistic easing of tensions after a fight they’d had no business surviving; and he had fallen asleep so swiftly afterwards (perhaps even mid-act, he genuinely can’t recall). No chance for Blondie to ask any questions, then. 

Third was simply because they had been traveling a long time in thirsty desert, and fallen upon the weak, warm brook with the joy bequeathed to eaters of forbidden fruit; and not a single word had passed between them that day. 

But this is their fourth time together. Time to either fish or cut bait; to break their accidental partnership, or to affirm they have a lasting arrangement, as potent as a maidenhood. By now, he ought to be sure about it, one way or the other; but there’s a question hanging in the balance that hasn’t yet been asked. 

So Tuco waits, stretching his length comfortably out across the worn straw tick. The beds in this sullen boarding house are just right for him and therefore much too small for the man who lies crumpled beside him. A circumstance he would laugh over, except that Blondie has never laughed when the situation was reversed. 

(His last partner had laughed, time and again, at short breeches and his feet dangling from bar stools. His last partner had been shot running away from a bevy of angry sheriffs, while Tuco had been napping in plain sight underneath a stolen sombrero; so that score was settled evenly.)

No, Blondie simply doesn’t laugh; which must be hell on earth for a man, but makes him a very good partner. The right kind of silence, a quick draw and a quicker eye, those are all virtues in their profession. The two of them could make it far together, luck and God permitting. 

All this time he has been ruminating, and Blondie has not yet put down the Colt Navy, feeling every inch of the piece, fondling it like a preacher with a new Bible. There is an unspoken agreement that a man who fucks you may hold your gun; but this has gone on long enough, Tuco decides. 

“Put it back when you’re done.”

Blondie nods, as though he’d only been waiting for the words. Tucks it back into the jacket, hangs the jacket on the bedpost within easy reach. In just the right place, there are some things the two of them don’t need to discuss. 

But some things, they do. “You’re taking your time asking, Blondie.”

“Asking what?” Blondie says. Says rather than asks, no inflection or interest. It would be easy to mistake him for a man who is not paying attention. 

“Asking why I keep it in my pocket. Not a holster.”

One gunfight is a gunfight. But Blondie’s too noticing, too cunning, not to have observed that he has never once used a holster in any of their escapades- and the simple reason for that is, he can’t. He’s practiced, for weeks, with exasperated fury, and a gun will come out slick as butter and do what he demands- but it won’t go back in afterwards without the closest watching. The leather gets jammed in the muzzle; or he drops it; or catches the trigger on his belt and comes damn close to shooting his own foot off; so he keeps it in a pocket instead. 

It’s easier, it’s simpler, it works; and there isn’t a cowboy in the whole of Texas who wouldn’t sooner die than admit he can’t work a holster correctly. He’s not a cowboy, and he isn’t in this line of business for show; but this sort of thing matters to gunslingers. 

“What do I care how you carry it? You can shoot it straight in a fight, that’s what matters.“

There is this about Blondie, Tuco considers, the man is self-absorbed. For all his narrow-eyed attention for detail, if a thing does not worry him personally he will never care about it at all. 

This partnership might suit them after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a rumour about on-set frivolities, the truth of which I've not been able to confirm.


End file.
